


Your Love is Gonna Drown

by WaterWych



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Alcohol, Depression, Drug Use, Explicit Language, F/F, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Rain, Smoking, Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 16:13:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8020534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaterWych/pseuds/WaterWych
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything about her was a lie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Love is Gonna Drown

“Touch me again, and I’ll down you in the ocean.” The woman on the pier snaps, bundled in a thick sweater of aquamarine and pulling her hand away as if the small bout of physical contact burned. The caring in her cerulean eyes replaced by an ugly cynicism Peridot didn’t even know could exist. She glowers darkly at her from the distance she places between them – a mere seven feet across a stretch of boardwalk stained in layers of seagull shit and dried vomits splatters – and frowns.

Rude, imperious bitch.

Peridot walks away with her hands shoved deep into her coat pockets under an overcast sky. The smell of brine and ozone fills her crooked nose.

A storm is surely coming.

 

.

 

“I’m sorry about last time.” It’s awkward, confusing, and absolutely full of bullshit. Peridot doesn’t understand why she’s apologizing; the woman has no right to, and clearly does not seem to mean it.

Smoking on a burnt-out cigarette with a free hand crammed in the pocket of her jeans – torn at the knees and appearing terribly worn. Smelling like stale alcohol and fresh, suffocating tobacco, the woman from the previous day is still the same as ever. Sporting her stylistic cobalt blue hair and tan sun-kissed skin from way too many hours in the sun.

She sees that she’s wearing a ragged dark grey cardigan today; a testament to how the clouds still refuse to permit a sliver of sunlight.

“How the hell is your skin so tan?” Peridot rudely asks, returning the strange woman’s incredulous stare with one of her own. She has no intent of acknowledging her bullshit apology. “Beach City rarely experiences more than a month of clear sky.”

A cloud of smoke is blown into her pale face. “I visit a tanning salon just down the road.” She flicks the cigarette onto the boardwalk, messily smears it with the heel of her sandal into a scrap of ash, and pushes past the smaller woman.

She watches as she strolls down the pier in a confliction of feelings.

Irritation; distaste; curiosity.

She contemplates the enigma of the female with the dead cerulean eyes as she pulls up the collar of her jacket to battle against a sudden chill.

The wind grows stronger with each passing day.

 

.

 

Peridot spots the familiar woman sitting on the very end of the boardwalk. Her feet dangling off the edge, and both sandals floating in the cold Atlantic water like small abandoned ships. The cowl of a dull hoodie is pulled over her head – shielding her mane of cobalt hair from the light mist that carries with it a chilly precipitation.

She doesn’t seem to mind the company as Peridot lowers herself besides her; upholding the unspoken vow of not touching the stoic female.

It takes a few minutes for the smaller woman to break her pledge of silence.

“Why are your shoes in the water?”

The unnamed stranger peers at her behind a sheaf of dark locks, and pauses to take a swig of something murky in a bottle. Her breath smells of alcohol as she answers. “Thought they needed a wash.”

“A wash?”

“Yeah.” Her monosyllabic reply is punctuated by a heavy, tired sigh. “Stepped into a pool of mud before I got here, and decided to throw them in.”

Peridot gazes sullenly at the bobbing sandals, and notices how the waves slowly drag them further and further away from the pier. Two leather and plastic embedded objects. Her voiced concerns are met with ridicule.

“I don’t care about them. I can always buy another.” She waves a cheap wallet in the smaller woman’s face; one that is falling apart at the seams and is only carrying about fifteen dollars in cash.

It leaves an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

 

.

 

Peridot hurries towards the nearest café, her sneakers squelching against the wet boardwalk and the bottoms of her pant legs soaked with unavoidable puddles. A dark green scarf is wrapped tightly around her skinny throat; one she loosens as she pushes open a fingerprint stained door. The scent of coffee beans and somewhat fresh baked goods washes over her.

It is a daily routine that she has her morning cup of bitter coffee before running off to work at the nearby Good Buy as a computer repairwoman. Heaven knows how many people turn in laptops claiming viruses attacked their software each day.

She stops in front of the cashier – a young teenager with a face full of zits and a complexion only his mother could truly love. Shaggy hair slipping into his deep set eyes like a wet mop.

“A plain cup of coffee, please. And make it dark.” She has always preferred it that way.

He gives her a look as if she had just asked for death itself before slowly ringing up the price. “That’ll be five dollars and 49 cents.” Peridot slaps down six one-dollar bills and is given the incorrect amount of change back.

Because of the mix-up, she purposely refuses to donate to the charity fund set up on the front counter and steps to the side to wait for her hot beverage. Arms crossed over her narrow chest and a nasty scowl tipping her thin, dry lips downwards.

It takes more than five minutes for her order to arrive, and by the time it gets to her, it is already growing cold in her gloved hands.

She glances outside, taking mental note of the light downpour that consumes the outside world. It is seven-thirty; time for Peridot to head to work.

The small woman doesn’t even make two steps away from the register before she spots a shock of cobalt hair. Lime green eyes zero in on a familiar figure, and though she considers embarrassing her with a shouted greeting, she holds her tongue. Across from the strange cerulean-eyed woman is an even larger one.

Heavily muscled with a physique that could kill someone like her. Bleached mane of silver locks messy and unkempt – just frazzled enough to conceal most of her face from Peridot. An intimidating aura practically leaks off of her, and it is enough to make her leave.

She takes her coffee and bolts down the road before either of them can look up and notice her staring.

 

.

 

“Who the hell was that with you?” Peridot doesn’t know why she’s asking, but it was on her mind, and on an impulse, she utters her question without another thought. The stranger in question tosses her an emotionless glance; sleeves of her grey long-sleeved shirt pulled all the way up to her skinny wrists.

“Girlfriend.” Her hair is reverting back to its natural color. Black roots threatening to break through a weakening cobalt barrier.

“You mean like… a partner?”

“Something like that.” The taller woman’s answer is far too quick – rehearsed – for Peridot’s liking, and she suspects there’s more hiding beneath the surface. But in an attempt to preserve the small cushion of trust they’d built, she drops the subject.

“I see.” Disappointment is chewing at the back of her brain, and she fiddles with the collar of her rain slicker. Unsure of what to say, and where to go.

The woman beside her shifts first. “I have to get going.” The cigarette she had been smoking is tossed over the waterlogged railing and left to drift aimlessly in the tumult waves. Sea spraying her face as she turns to leave.

Peridot panics, and formulates one last response. “Wait! I never got your name.” She earns a cryptic glare from over a cotton-clad shoulder.

“It’s Lazuli. _Just_ Lazuli.”

 

.

 

The cool sand presses against her pale feet. White and rough like the frothing sea laid out before her. Its overcast again – bearing the same scent of saltwater and chilly winds underneath a dark and light grey mottled sky. Lazuli rests directly on the shore this time, and it makes Peridot stop for just a moment to see her nestled in the dirty sand instead of leaning against a bird shit encrusted railing.

“What are you doing out here, Lazuli?” She asks under a layer of misting drizzle, the cowl of a _Beach City High_ hoodie pulled over her peroxide blonde hair. A coffee rests in one hand as the other rummages around in her jean’s back pockets in search of her seemingly elusive phone.

The woman in question glances at her from between her dark locks; black encroaching down the length of each strand. “Sitting in the sand. What the hell does it look like?” For once, she’s wearing shorts unlike her typical torn jeans and scuffed up sandals. Her tan legs pulled up to a tank top covered chest.

Her question sows an uneasy feeling in Peridot’s narrow chest. “I don’t know, it’s just that you’re always standing on the pier.” Lime green eyes lock with burned out cerulean; ones that are wrung with sickly patches of bruises. “Why change today?”

“Didn’t feel like standing in seagull crap, so I thought beachside would be better.” She sounds tried. Worn out. Peridot notices she’s barefoot now with her sandals nowhere in sight, and wonders if she walked the whole way like that.

“You sound exhausted.”

“Do I?” Her question is more like a mocking snort of laughter, but there is nothing funny about the situation. A high, dead chuckle that escapes her lips and feels just all wrong.

“Lazuli,” Peridot reaches out with a pale hand, “are you sleeping enough?”

“ _Don’t touch me!_ ” It is frightening how fast the strange woman switches from playful to snapping mad, and Peridot draws her appendage back in fear that she may bite it off. Noting, in her sudden terror, the obscured fear that flashes behind her glassy, reflective orbs of dark blue.

An awkward silence consumes them, threatening to tear down the small relationship they had built, before Lazuli speaks first. Fists grabbing at sand and voice a shuddering whisper. “…I’m sorry…” This time, she knows she means it.

“Why did you…?” She doesn’t want to finish the sentence. It was evident enough what the smaller woman meant.

“I… I really don’t know. I just,” one of her shaking hands comes up to rub wearily at the side of her face, “god, I’m just so _tired._ ” Peridot doesn’t want to provide her an ounce of pity, but hears the weakness in her voice, and realizes there is something horrifically wrong with the woman in front of her.

People don’t snap without reason.

Digging into her back pocket again, she fishes out her cracking phone and rubs off some of the dirt hidden between the chinks. Ten years old and still – moderately – functioning. “Let’s exchange numbers.” She is rewarded a confused stare. “It would be best we keep in contact.”

“For what reason?”

“Just, you know,” her heart is pounding in her chest in some form of embarrassment, “if you need someone to talk to.”

“I don’t really think it’s necessary, but… thanks.” She throws the appreciation carelessly at her, and Peridot catches the quickest flicker of a smirk. Nothing close to a smile, but good enough for her.

They exchange numbers and phones like calling cards, and Peridot is off on her way to her part time job. Coffee now cold in her hand, and a grin pulling her thin lips upwards.

 A storm may have been coming, but she was in a fairly good mood.

 

.

 

The rain is a monstrous force; dumping buckets full of chilling water against the small motel windows. It is almost like a typhoon rages outside, desperate to make any living soul caught in its crossfire absolutely miserable. But Peridot doesn’t mind.

She strolls around the dirty floor, setting down makeshift buckets underneath each wet spot that eludes to a leak in the ceiling; humming along to a song she fails to know the lyrics of, and only the tune. Her dark green sweatpants threaten to trip her up, dragging across the scraggly light brown carpet stained with countless ages of dried coffee stains; crumbs; and heaven knows what else.

For ten bucks a night, however, Peridot has been living at the roadside motel for a couple of months. Saving enough money up to actually buy her own beach house instead of renting a room for each long night thrown at her.

She has her bitch of a mother to thank for leaving her without any money in a bank account or will.

The harsh florescent ceiling lights flicker above, threatening her with the chance of a power outage, and she strings together a well-practiced line of curse words. Due to the risk, she hastens her preparation of placing plastic containers and bottles over moldy smelling patches, and clambers into one of the two beds available.

Peridot doesn’t mind the itchy covers, choosing to burrow further into the fabric at the chill that starts to permeate the sparsely insolated room.

It takes her a moment to fumble for her ancient phone amongst a clutter of soda bottles and wrappers on the nightstand, but when she secures it in her wavering grasp, she makes no hesitation in texting the number Lazuli had given her.

No reply follows, and Peridot contemplates if she had even given her the correct order of numbers.

Lighting and thunder rumbles outside.

 

.

 

“Your number didn’t work.”

“What do you mean?” They are standing on the pier this time; Peridot in cargo shorts despite the chilly weather after the savage rainfall, and Lazuli wearing the scarf she had first seen her with. Dark, ominous clouds blot out the nonexistent sun.

“I messaged you last night, and it said it didn’t go through.” The cold wind plays with her bleached hair. Spraying a cloud of saltwater into her pallid face. She sees how the taller woman’s hair is dyed back to her signature cobalt blue, and that she is still not wearing any sandals.

“Must have died on me.” She mumbles between drags on a cigarette, eyes closed as she exhales a shaky cloud of foul smelling smoke. The familiar scent of tobacco clings to the fabric of her aquamarine scarf.

“Make sure you do it right this time.” Peridot leaves no room for questions; digging her fingers into her coat pockets and thrusting her battered phone into one of Lazuli’s outstretched hands. She watches her this time to make sure there is no error.

“Did you see the storm last night?”

“Yeah. Did you?”

“No.” Lazuli wipes her hand onto the front of her sweater and flicks the still burning cigarette into the frothing Atlantic Ocean. “Too drunk last night to listen.”

“Then why the hell did you ask me?”

Her breath smells like stale beer as she turns to face her. “No reason.”

 

.

 

Peridot’s steps are slow and calculated as she makes her way back from the nearby convenient store. A plastic bag full of junk food and caffeinated tea weighing one of her scrawny arms down. She treads lightly across the wet asphalt, weary that a light drizzle had just occurred and could catch her by surprise at any moment.

The weather of Beach City in the fall and winter is notorious for being unpredictable.

Above her, the sky is pitch black; any sign of the vibrant milky orb concealed by the lingering cloud cover from the previous storm. The wind sweeps across the deserted road, and she feels as if another wave of thundering rain is coming.

Far to her left in the inky darkness, the diluted roar of the sea pounds against the soggy shore.

Her breath comes out in visible puffs of white.

“Peridot?” All the bones in her body freeze up in place, and she feels a seed of panic blossom in her chest. She almost wants to shout – to whirl around and smash her bag into the stranger’s face in an attempt at self-defense – but immediately relaxes when the person steps around into her line of sight.

The shock of cobalt hair is a familiar one. “Lazuli, what the hell? You nearly gave me a heart attack.” Never has she been called by her name once until now. “I could’ve hurt you.”

“What? With that bag you’re carrying? Please,” she snorts, “that couldn’t have done much damage.”  Clad in a thick coat and her ripped jeans, she looks ready for the incoming rainfall.

“Why are you out here so late at night?”

“I was taking a walk. Couldn’t sleep.” The taller woman shields her eyes from her, and Peridot immediately knows something is wrong.

“’A walk’, huh? You know you’re a horrible liar, right?”

Lazuli does not speak for a few moments, and bites her lip as if anxious of the situation. “I got kicked out, okay? Said something I shouldn’t have, and got thrown out for the night.” She crams her hands into her jean pockets and scowls; all mirth now gone from her eyes and replaced by a blatant anger.

“By your girlfriend?”

“Yeah.” The strange woman kicks at the ground angrily. “That bitch can’t take a joke.”

Peridot contemplates her next words carefully. “Why don’t you stay at my place? I mean,” she amends for the look Lazuli gives her, “it would be pretty awful if you got sick and all. It’s the least I can do.”

The faintest of smiles lifts the corners of her companion’s lips upwards. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

 

.

 

“Welcome to my humble abode, Miss Lazuli.” She references the two beds, cluttered bathroom, and single drawer with a mounted television set. “It can all be yours if you just say ‘yes’.”

“All of it?”

“Well, just not _my_ side of the room.” Peridot adds quickly, giving her a nervous grimace as the taller woman strolls around; staring at all the wet spots on the floor and the basic, minimalistic condition it’s in.

Her bare feet sink deep into the dirty carpet. “Why do you live in a motel?”

“Why don’t you wear shoes?” Peridot retorts back, and Lazuli nods passively.

“Good point.” Her tired cerulean eyes scan the room. “I guess I’ll stay, since you’re offering and all.”

“Great! Let me put these groceries away and we can get you situated.”

 

.

 

“Why do you even live with her? She sounds like such an asshole.”

“I don’t know anymore.”

They’re chewing on soda crackers and sipping the caffeinated tea Peridot had purchased that night; eyes glued to a flickering television screen that’s broadcasting a cheap horror film about a creature in a lagoon and the people that fall victim to it. Too many times had they laughed to the fake screams that erupted from the television’s faulty speakers.

“When I had graduated from high school, I needed a place to stay, and she was offering.” Lazuli runs a salt stained hand through her messy cobalt locks. “Guess it sort of developed into something else after that.”

“Doesn’t sound very good to me.” Peridot mumbles over a mouthful, and nearly chokes when she is given a nasty glare.

“Don’t tell me how to live my life. This is what I wanted.”

“God, alright, I’m sorry, okay?”

It was obvious Lazuli was touchy about the subject, and she drops it within the same second. Most of it. “Can you at least tell me her name?”

“Jasper.” She spits the name with so much concentrated venom, Peridot is surprised there is even an ounce of affection in their relationship; if it can even be called one. True to her word, however, she refuses to speak of Jasper for the rest of the night.

The rain falls heavy against the ceiling.

 

.

 

“Thanks for letting me stay over last night. Can’t believe I snapped at you again.”

“Honestly, it was no big deal.” She waves her off with a hand; peroxide hair sticking out at every angle. “It was-“ Fun? Amusing? Entertaining? “- _pleasant_ that we got another chance to speak.”

“I have to say you hold a conversation way better than Jasper does.”

“Well, I try.”

“She won’t like me doing this, but,” a piece of paper is hastily pressed into one of Peridot’s cold hands, “here’s my address. Come over on the weekend or something, and let me return the favor.”

“When did you write this?”

“Last night when you were sleeping.” Lazuli checks her phone for the time before fixing her coat around her shoulders. “I’ll catch you later.”

“Yeah, heh, you too.”

She closes the door behind her just as a grin breaks out over Peridot’s narrow face.

She has no idea why she suddenly feels so giddy.

 

.

 

Over the weekday, Peridot finally manages to get her messages to go through. The texts are all simple, but enough to have mild conversations, and she takes no time in replying to each and every one.

On Monday, she texts while waiting in line for her morning coffee.

Tuesday, during her slow job at Good Buy; narrowly missing her boss’ hawk-like gaze in their crusade to end phone use during shifts.

Her lunch break on Wednesday while she’s consuming half a can of soda and a small container of greasy curly fries.

Thursday’s stroll home in the evening as she dodges wide puddles and even wider people.

And after she’s done taking a shower Friday night; wrapped in a flimsy dark brown towel that does little to dry the cooling water.

Midnight strikes, and the rain has not stopped falling.

 

.

 

Saturday morning, Peridot walks aimlessly down a neat paved road. Gawking at all the one or two story beach houses that greet her, and wondering how Lazuli’s girlfriend can even afford such a hefty price. The front yards are prim and proper; the sand scattered about the road and sidewalks. Windswept up from the beach and into the organized neighborhood. The paper in her hand flutters like a loose leaf as she pauses in front of one dwelling.

Lazuli’s dwelling.

All cream colored walls and dark blue-grey trimming on the roof and window frames. Her heart pounds in her chest, but she pushes herself onwards. The roar of the ocean in her ears as she produces an appendage and knocks against the ornate door.

She steps back, and the door swings open to reveal a familiar figure.

“Peridot. Good to see you made it.” Lazuli is wearing beach shorts and a halter crop top made of blue fabric; out dressing Peridot in her casual dirty jeans and dark green high school hoodie. She falters as she flashes her a small smile. A genuine, true smile.

“Y-Yeah, ah, guess I got your address right.” She is beckoned inside by a slender hand adorned in a circlet of cheap brass. Her first step greets her with the scent of smoke; soap; and sharp saltwater.

The living room is well furnished. Two white couches of polyester perpendicular to each other, and surrounding a coffee table decorated with magazines and a faded ashtray. A couple paintings of country scenery are mounted on the walls. Out of place and out of color.

Peridot glances to her right and sees a sliding door leading to a sun bleached balcony; pulled open and permitting a breeze filled with the scent of brine inside. “You have a nice setup here.”

“Oh, all of this? It’s Jasper’s remember?” She speaks to her from her seat on one of the couches, smoking a cigarette she had left in the ashtray. The smaller woman takes a seat beside her. Keeping her distance, yet closer than she recalls.

“Still, would’ve been nice if it was yours. You could take those crappy paintings off the wall, you know.”

“Hm. Funny.”

They sit there for a while. Starting small conversations about the strange weather and the funds that go into paying off the house’s property tax. Lazuli laughs on many occasions at the things Peridot says, and she feels something strange in her chest.

It is uncomfortable and almost makes her feel sick, but in a way, she enjoys it. The warm sensation that threatens to consume her.

So different yet familiar.

She wants to ask – to further understand the fuzzy feeling that grows – but is interrupted by the clicking of the front door being unlocked. Peridot glances over at Lazuli and sees how her tan skin is paler than normal; the way her cerulean eyes are wide in horror.

She understands why when she meets two orbs of burning, furious amber.

Her heart nearly stops.

 

.

 

“Who the _hell_ is this, Lapis?”

“Jasper, please, she’s no one-!”

There is the sickening sound of skin splitting skin. “You stay out of this, you sleazy whore!”

“Hey! Who do you think you are, hitting her like that?”

“You shut up! You’re just another one of Lapis’ pathetic friends she drags around for a few weeks and then forgets about!” Peridot growls in pain as a large hand roughly grabs her by the hair and jerks her head backwards. Forcing her to stare into two pits of hellfire. “She doesn’t make “friends”. She only knows how to manipulate and use.”

“No! That’s not true, I-“

“What did I tell you about talking?” Peridot watches in a mix of anger and fear as Jasper grabs ahold of one of Lapis’ wrists and pulls her forwards. “You shut your mouth, bitch, or I’ll make sure I shut it for ya’!” She’s thrown onto the floor with a jarring thud.

“You can’t treat people like that!”

“I can do what I want, and if you were smart,” her thunderous voice lowers into a grating whisper, “I’d leave _right now_ if you don’t want to get your neck snapped.”

At her mercy, she is thrown out of the residence; the door slamming behind her, and a duet of voices just loud enough to be heard from her sprawled position on the front steps.

She angrily spits a string of curse words, and reaches back to stop the aching in her head. Her trembling fingers make contact with something wet.

Blood.

 

.

 

Peridot gazes heatedly at the lapping waves. Her perch on the pier a solace to the angry thoughts that rattle around her brain. A light drizzle falls on her motionless form, and she pulls up the collar of her dark coat just a little further.

She doesn’t turn around to address the presence behind her.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you something you already know?” Her voice is quiet; very much like her. “That I’m a monster and wreck people’s lives around me?”

“No.” Her monosyllabic reply is clipped. Sharp to her own ears. “You could’ve told me that you were just using me.”

“Peridot,” she flinches at the sound of her own name, “it’s not like that.”

“Bullshit, Lazuli. What makes you think I’m going to believe you now after everything Jasper said about you?” Her voice is cracking, and she desperately hopes the crashing off the sea will mask its weakness. The fragility taking hold. “I thought you were actually my friend – someone I could trust after a lifetime of being treated like shit – and I guess I made the wrong choice.”

“Peridot, please.” There is something lying underneath Lazuli’s voice that mirrors her own. “You _are_ so much more than a stranger to me. I’ve been lonely for so long, I didn’t know how to speak to people, and I,” a splinter in her usually strong tone, “I used them. I used them to get what I wanted, and when my illusion of companionship was fulfilled, I’d simply walk away.

“But you are so different. I’m telling you, I’ve never felt this way about another person before!”

“How about Jasper, huh?” Her knuckles are white against the railing. “Are you just taking her along for the ride?”

“Jasper’s a completely different matter. She deserves it, for everything she’s ever done to me.”

“Then she was right.” Peridot finally gathers the will to face her; her lime green orbs narrowed in a confliction of emotion. “You _are_ sleazy whore.” She feels a sick pleasure at the hurt expression that crosses her face.

“Peridot…” She sees the dark contusion that had bloomed across her jaw, the dried blood left from the physical damage, but finds no sympathy for her. Her heart a dead husk inside. “I can’t do this anymore; can’t go back to being lonely again. I need you, please.”

“Go find someone else to “need”, Lazuli, because I’m done with you.” She roughly pushes past her, steps hurried across the waterlogged, seagull shit stained wood. Before she leaves a gap of more than ten feet, however, she throws over her shoulder one last stab. “And to think I was actually starting to like you. Bitch.”

Arriving home, she deletes her contact from her phone and throws it bitterly against the room.

 

.

 

She doesn’t know why she’s taking a trip down to the pier. There’s nothing to keep her there, and as much as she hated the thought of seeing Lazuli, it was part of a routine. Coffee in one gloved hand, she marches sullenly up the boardwalk; taking jagged sips of the scalding liquid to keep her mind off of the woman with the cobalt hair and cerulean eyes.

The sea, smelling of familiar brine, tosses itself at the pier’s foundation. It’s cold Atlantic waters appearing dark and foreboding underneath the expected overcast sky. Despite it being almost a week since she had last been there, nothing has changed.

Expect for the sight of a familiar female standing at the very edge of the dock. Positioned over it as if she was preparing to plunge into its icy depths with her aquamarine scarf fluttering in the chilly breeze. Peridot stops herself halfway up the vomit splattered boardwalk to observe, her anger replaced with a growing feeling of dread, and the muscles in her legs tensing for action.

She’s already running before Lazuli even starts to fall forwards; her coffee abandoned to look just like all the other dried stains littering the wood planks. Peridot’s sprinting down the pier as fast as her legs can carry her, possessed by a feeling of distress as she loudly calls out her name in a signature, nasally voice.

“Lazuli! Stop! _Lazuli_!” She throws off her thick coat and practically trips off of the pier after her; the cold water a nauseating shock to her system.

Her sight is greatly reduced in the churning dark ocean, and she blindly feels with her hands for the woman she’s so desperate to locate. It is a struggle she’s slowly losing as the freezing waves start to sap her strength, and three times she surfaces to capture a choking breath of air to only be dragged back under the waves.

It is becoming a hopeless search until her stiffening fingers brush against a bundle of fabric and she instinctively grabs it. Arms wrapping around a motionless figure, and urgently trying to stay above the surface. Peridot doesn’t need a second glance to know its Lazuli, and focuses most of her strength onto swimming back towards the pier.

Exhaustion gripping her. Her arms feeling like stone.

By the time her fingers brush against the shore, her body collapses in a shivering mess of freezing limbs and uncontrollable enervation, and she’s praying to a god she doesn’t believe in. Tiredly wondering how she managed to survive the strenuous situation.

Panic is still fresh in her mind, however, as she turns her weary gaze towards the motionless form of Lazuli and freezes in horror. Her chest ceases to rise; her lips – blue from the prolonged exposure of the chilling water – half-open in unconsciousness.

Peridot drags her stiff form over to her and begins to weakly press her hands against her chest.

One, two, three. One, two, three. She lowers her ear to her mouth to find no air going in or out. “Dammit, Lazuli, come on! I-If you die on me, I-I will never forgive your sorry ass.” Taking a deep breath, she smashes her lips into hers and starts to push air into her open mouth. Pausing only to take another breath or press more vainly on her motionless chest.

What seems like an hour passes before she finally gets the cobalt haired woman resuscitated. Mouthfuls of brine vomited up over the front of her jacket, and her body proceeding to go into a shaking fit as she stares blankly at the lapping wavers. Her cerulean eyes full of tears from the abrupt bout of ocean she just retched out.

Peridot wraps a shaking arm around Lazuli’s shivering form and pulls her close to her chest.

“Don’t you _ever_ d-do something l-like that again!”

 

.

 

               “Why did you do it?” She asks, throwing a towel over the taller woman’s bare shoulders and wrapping one around her own. They’re both stripped down into their undergarments; leaving their clothes to dry on top of the faulty heater embedded within the wall of the motel room. It was embarrassing at first to be almost naked in front of her, but after a while, Peridot grew a bit more comfortable with the idea and loosened up.

Outside, the rain splatters against the window panes like bullets, and she takes a moment to peer at the darkened sky. It is ten-thirty in the morning. She should have been at work at least a couple of hours ago. Not sitting under the covers of a bed sharing it with another woman and drinking a hot herbal tea.

Lazuli catches her attention with a grating cough. “I just… I couldn’t take it anymore.” Her throat burns from the saltwater she had ingested.

“Because of those things I said?”

“No, it isn’t that.” Her words are honest, but there is a pain beneath her confession. Evident in the way her faintly shaking hands wrap tighter onto the Styrofoam cup in confliction.

“Jasper?” Peridot takes a guess and earns a nod in reward. A bitter taste in her mouth forms on the subject of the abusive woman. “What did she do this time?”

“I don’t,” Lazuli’s gaze drops off onto the bed, “I don’t know if I can tell you.”

“Lapis,” she flinches at the sudden use of her first name, “tell me what the heck is going on. As someone who trusts you.” The distraught female bites her lip and hides her gaze under a wet sheaf of dark cobalt hair.

In an airy, whisper of a voice, she slips out the major reason for her attempt on suicide.

“I’m pregnant.”

 

.

 

“How the hell are you pregnant? You weren’t raped were you?”

“No, I wasn’t, alright?” There is a cocktail of anger and fear in her trembling voice.

“But Jasper’s a woman, isn’t she?” Lapis is silent longer than Peridot is patient with. “Isn’t she?”

A shuddering, heavy sigh. “She’s transgender. Played captain of the men’s football team back in high school.”

“And you nearly drowned yourself over being pregnant? Lapis,” Peridot feels a twinge of anger flare up inside of her chest, “we could have both died! Or even got hypothermia. Why the _hell_ would you want to take your own life?”

“Because it’s shitty, okay?” She snaps, nearly spilling the cup of cool tea over herself. “I don’t want to have a baby. I never asked for any of this to happen!”

“Then why did you sleep with her?” Peridot barks back. “If you knew you were taking a risk, why did you do it?”

“I… I didn’t.” Her revelation sparks a sickening feeling with the smaller woman, and she horrifically understands the meaning of her words.

“Y-You mean you were -?”

“Sexually abused?”

Don’t say it; don’t say it; don’t say it!

“Yes.”

 

.

 

For once, a few slivers of sunshine manage to slip out between the relentless cloud cover; carrying with it much needed warmth and light. The beach on Friday sees to it the whole town of relieved children and adults who decide it is the perfect day to lay in the sand, and becomes crowded within a couple of hours.

Peridot’s usual spot on the pier is relinquished only for the day to a family intent on spending the rest of their time there.

Instead, she leans against the outside entryway into the _Beach City Arcade_ , paused by the transportable port-a-potties in wait for her cobalt haired companion. Her beach shorts exposing her pale legs, and a t-shirt depicting an alien head on the front hanging loosely on her frame. She glares against the bright sky, wondering if it would have been better to buy cheap sunglasses instead of the blazer she wears looped about her waist.

She hears the lock slide open beside her, and turns to greet the woman stumbling out of the portable toilet.

“Sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” She’s referencing the sudden bout of nausea that had sent her barreling through a crowd in search of a place to throw up.

“It’s fine.” But it really isn’t. A week has passed since Peridot witnessed Lazuli’s sporadic attempt at death, and they refused to speak about her seemingly fragile condition. It bothered her that she shrugged it off so lightly, but Peridot wasn’t going to stake their relationship on asking her about her concerns.

With a gesture of her hand, they start walking. Dodging packs of children heading towards the beach to make sandcastles, and pushing past flirtatious teenagers who find the opposite sex way too attractive for her liking. As they stroll down the crowded boardwalk – the only place the town comes to life – they make idle conversation.

“How long have you known?”

“Last week. That was why I was on the pier like that.”

Peridot glances at her nervously. “How did you find out?”

“I kept getting sick in the morning. Couldn’t keep any food down for the first couple days.” She says it so casually; it implants a bitter taste in the smaller woman’s mouth.

It takes a moment of preparation for Peridot to mention her next inquiry. “Does Jasper know…?” Lazuli rubs a hand awkwardly at the back of her neck, forcing her to wait for a tangible answer. She can practically feel her skin starting to burn under the small plane of sunlight.

“She doesn’t.”

“And for good reason, correct?”

“Yeah.” Her reply is quiet; vague.

“What would happen if she found out?”

Silence.

“I don’t know, Peridot. I don’t know.”

 

.

 

The knocking on the motel door drags her out of her dreams, and Peridot growls in frustration at being awoken so early in the morning. The sky pitch black with the gentle tapping of raindrops against the window. Seems the fairly sunny day did not last.

In a plain t-shirt and signature sweat pants, she clambers out of bed and hastens towards the source of the noise; a practiced hiss of curse words lurking just underneath her breath as she fumbles for the doorknob.

“Who the hell could it be?” Her pale hands unlock the door and crack it open. “Hey, it’s three o’ clock in the goddamned morning, so if you’ve got some religious figure to preach at me, go bother me at another-“ Peridot’s nasally voice drops off into oblivion as she registers the familiar figure standing in the light drizzle. Cobalt hair damp and her knitted white sweater sticking to her shivering form. Her eyes widen in surprise. “L-Lapis?”

She swings the door open further and stares at her; concern flickering into her sleep encrusted lime green eyes. “What the hell are you doing here and so late?”

“P-Peridot, I-I need to get away f-for a while. Just,” her words come in a slurred train wreck of speech, and the woman in questioning focuses hard to piece together the broken information, “just need a p-place to, um, fuck, s-stay for the time. Y-You know?” The request is very strange, but she can’t leave her out in the cold.

Lazuli is a shivering mess by the time she permits her entry, and Peridot spots the one other reason why her speech is so jumbled and confusing.

“Cocaine?” She is referencing to the white powder smudged across the tip of her nose. “Lapis, why the hell are you snorting cocaine? You’re pregnant, for god’s sake! I thought you didn’t do drugs.”

Her cerulean eyes are diluted – fearful – as she collapses onto the spare bed and starts to unabashedly wriggle out of her wet clothes.

“I don’t.”

 

.

 

“Now, explain everything clearly, all right?” Peridot asks, sitting on the edge of the bed she had given to Lazuli the night prior. The cobalt haired woman had passed out before she could even be interrogated, and Peridot was forced to move it to the next morning when she was far more coherent and sober.

Lazuli pushes out a heavy shuddering sigh of exhaustion. “Needed a place to stay. Is that too much?”

“No, I just,” she casts another glance towards her companion buried beneath the – most likely – unwashed sheets, “want to know why you’re really here.” Her question hangs in the suffocating air for just a moment before the other female submits to a crushing defeat.

“Jasper just got to be too much to handle. She came home late last night, and I- “

“-told her about the kid, right?” Lazuli nods affirmatively.

“Yeah. I explained it to her straight, and then she just,” she drops her gaze to her bruise-wrought arms, “snapped. I left before she could do any real damage.”

“But that doesn’t explain why you were high.” Peridot’s eyes peer at in an analytic way. “Lapis, who did you see last night?”

“It was no one important, alright?” She hisses out roughly; defensive in her answer. “I ran into an old friend, and they hooked me up. That’s all that happened.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Peridot,” she mumbles her name between a faint curl of her lips, “you know I would never lie to you, right?”

She already knows the answer to that question.

“No.” But replies with false illusion.

 

.

 

“What did you ever see in her, Lapis?”

“I don’t know. Her charm?”

Peridot pushes herself off of the sand by her elbows and looks incredulously at her dark haired companion. “Charm? What the hell would she know about charm?”

They’re lounging in the cool sand on a quiet weekend; wary of the dark frothing water lapping at the shore mere feet from them, and speaking of the recent news – the fact that Lazuli had finally put an end to the abuse. The rain clouds linger heavily in the sky, but refuse to release any larger draughts of water then the occasional short sprinkle. It has been a while since the last major storm.

“I think it was more of a sense of security.” She snorts out mockingly, arms underneath her head as she stares sleepily at the overcast dome stretched so high above.

“I could always give you a sense of security,” Peridot grumbles out angrily, taking great care to shield her face from Lapis’ roaming gaze as a flush of red consumes the pale skin; throwing the cowl of her high school hoodie over her peroxide hair.

“What did you just say?”

“I said she has a sense of immaturity.”

“Of course you did, Peridot.” Lazuli chokes out between muffled chuckles; genuine, true laughter. “Of course you did.”

She feels the nauseating emotion blossom in the pit of her stomach once more.

 

.

 

“Did I ever ask why you are living in a motel?”

“Possibly, but I don’t believe I ever gave you the answer.”

“Alright, well, why are you living here?”

“Room’s cheap. Also, I know the manager of this place.”

“Who’s the manager?”

“Just some girl from high school I used to hang with.”

“Oh. Okay.”

 

.

 

 

Standing outside the bathroom door, Peridot grimaces at the sound of stifled puking. Her eyebrows knitting together in concern as she finally gathers the courage to push open the door and waltz in.

“Hey, Lapis, you okay?” She finds her hunched over the porcelain bowl; nails digging into the rim, and her stomach heaving up another mouthful of slippery bile. In the harsh fluorescent lights that flicker every so often, Peridot sees how the black roots of her hair are already threatening to break through the mask of cobalt.

That, and the fact her tan skin is paler than normal.

“No. W-What do you think it looks like?” Barely having time to finish the sentence, she turns back towards the toilet and chokes out another sickening pile of vomit.

Peridot sighs wearily, and busies herself by pulling back the hair that falls into Lazuli’s face.

One appendage holding the dark locks; the other rubbing small circles on her back.

It is the only act of comfort she gives her at the moment.

 

.

 

“Hey, Lapis?”

“Yeah?”

“How old are you?”

She stops coating her filed nails a beautiful blue to look up at her. Cerulean eyes narrow slits under a lidded gaze. “Why do you want to know?”

“Just out of curiosity.” Peridot responds offhandedly as she turns back to the static-filled television; scowling at the way the sound keeps cutting in at the good parts. It was only a matter of time before the faulty piece of equipment played its last few horror movies, and in some way, Peridot was disheartened to see it go. It had served her well many a long, rainy night.

“Well, I’m older than you think.”

“You’ve got to be at least in your early twenties.” She deduces over her shoulder, attention immediately fixated back onto the screen as a man is comically sliced in two with an obviously fake buzz saw. The red blood that’s nothing more than paint excessive for such a pathetically filmed scene.

“You can say that.” She hears the sound of Lazuli blowing lightly against a drying nail. “It doesn’t really matter what age I am as long as I’m having fun.”

“Interesting of you to say that,” Peridot grunts out, most of her concentration focused on the blonde woman running through a dark, dimly lit corridor.

Of course she trips on the flight upstairs.

“I’d wager I can guess your age.”

“Try me. Ten dollars if you guess correct. Get it wrong,” she finally pulls herself away to flash her a crooked smirk, “and you have to kiss me.”

“Alright. Let’s see,” the cobalt haired woman studies her for a moment, sprawled across her belly on top of the comforter, “you’re about twenty-five years old.”

“Wrong.” Peridot grins arrogantly. “I’ll be twenty-five this coming spring.”

She lies.

 

.

 

The kiss isn’t anything she expected.

It’s slow; sweet; and poignantly… bitter?

But it is so much better than planting her lips against Lazuli’s when she had been unconscious.

Desperate to bring her back to life as quick as possible and panicked that she would have a waterlogged corpse on her hands.

At least now she savors it.

Tobacco taste and all.

 

.

 

On Monday, Peridot kisses her forehead in the morning before she heads off to Good Buy.

Tuesday, it’s on the cheek as she meets her for lunch at a nearby café; eager for black coffee, and somewhat glad work was cancelled early due to the warning of an incoming storm.

In the afternoon on Wednesday, she plants a chaste kiss against her throat as they rest on the seagull shit stained pier; feeling the slow, steady pulse under her thin lips.

During the evening, she wearily places one on the top of her head when she walks in to find her vomiting over the toilet once again; hunched over a seemingly growing stomach.

And the last on the area where her womb is located; gentle as the woman in her arms experiences a restless night and buries her face into her narrow chest.

It’s nothing like love, but something’s there.

 

.

 

“Peridot? What’s all of this?”

“Something nice I did.” She gestures to the table in the center of the room; nicely clothed and adorned with a pair of glasses and scratched porcelain plates. A candle flickers in the very center.

“What did I do to deserve this?”

“Reciprocate my feelings for you.” Peridot states smugly, her arms crossed behind her back as she allows the taller woman to circle the arrangements once. Dark eyes concealed behind a sheaf of cobalt hair fixated on the burning red candle.

“This is really strange, actually.” Lazuli turns to her. “Who did you have to kill to get this?”

“I more like ‘borrowed’ it from the manager of this motel, Lapis. When she finds out one of her tables is missing, however,” Peridot shudders involuntarily, “I’ll need help disposing the evidence.”

“With pleasure.”

 

.

 

“Honestly, this is too much.” Lazuli’s voice is quiet; breaking at the sincerity of her gesture. “I… can’t appreciate how much you’ve done for me.”

“Don’t worry about it. Really. I’ve enjoyed the company.”

“Same.” She twirls a snarl of cobalt hair around a slender digit as she sips from a glass filled with wine. Red and pungent on a tongue eroded by cigarette smoke and hard beer.

“You don’t know how much you mean to me, Lapis.” Peridot feels her heart in her throat, hammering away in her chest as if it is threatening to explode. “I just… have to tell you this now before I never get a chance.”

“And what would that be?” The other woman’s image is fuzzy to her. Blurry around the edges, and appearing as if she was underwater. Perhaps she has consumed too much wine during the short hour they had been sitting there – chatting over trivial details and eating a dinner that was more junk food then healthy.

She shakes her head but can’t seem to rid herself of the haze. With each passing second, it grows stronger and stronger. “I… I wanted to say that I…” Why was it growing so hard to speak? “…that I think it’s a good idea t-that you…” The back of her head begins to hurt like hell. “…s-stayed here…” The wine of glass she is holding slips out of her fingers and stains the dirty carpet a gory red. “…p-permanently…”

The world around her rocks, and before she understands what is going on, she collapses face first into the table.

Bleary eyes slipping shut and everything fading to black.

 

.

 

_I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, but… it has to be done._

_It’s over._

_There’s nothing you could have done, but I would like you to know that these past weeks have been the best of my life._

_Never have I been shown so much kindness or love in such a short time._

_And for that, I thank you._

_For everything you’ve done._

 

.

 

_I love you._

 

.

 

Peridot wakes up to a splitting headache and feels as if every limb is filled with lead. Heavy and uncooperative. She struggles to keep herself upright and fully awake as she sweeps her gaze across the motel room. Panic rising in her throat and finally pushing her into complete awareness.

She fumbles for her phone in her back pocket, and immediately blanches as her bleary lime green eyes land on a message from an unknown number. In big bold letters, they carry only one meaning:

LAPIS LAZULI IS DEAD.

 

.

 

“Breaking news! At five in the morning today- “

“- the body of a woman was found at the bottom – “

“- of the pier in Beach City, Delmarva. Authorities – “

“- proclaim it was suicide via drowning, and are now currently – “

“- reporting case evidence. Police on scene explain that they- “

“-found her coat pockets full of stones, and, indeed, conclude that she- “

Peridot doesn’t wish to hear more. She barely has time to make it to the bathroom before she’s vomiting; salty tears mixing in with the foul tasting bile, and choked sobs wracking her shaking form.

She spends the next couple of weeks locked up inside the room. Barely eating or sleeping, and not daring to step foot outside in case it reminds Peridot of _her_.

The mattress Lazuli used to sleep on is pushed outside to the back of the hotel and burned with a match.

She’s lucky the manager does not catch her.

 

.

 

Anger; depression; horrific anxiety.

Each cut hurts more than the one before it, but she finds something relaxing in the way crimson drips down a pale wrist and into a porcelain basin.

The razor in her shaking hand dries a brownish red.

 

.

 

It’s late in the night when Peridot stumbles upon the crumpled piece of paper wedged in the pocket of her late companion’s knitted sweater. She contemplates just throwing it away altogether, but refuses to take the risk.

Fumbling with the scrap, she smooths it out and holds it eyelevel.

The last grip she possesses on her fragile sanity slips from her grasp like water between her fingers.

 

.

 

_God, Peridot, where do I even start? Everything’s so crazy, I just can’t focus anymore._

_I might be writing this way in advance, but I already have a guess how everything is going to play out, and, knowing you, you will not find this note until I’m dead._

_You may be smart, but you think too hard and miss the obvious clues in front of you._

_Many of which belong to me._

_And, I think it’s time you know the truth. All of it._

_For starters, I’m not who you think I am._

_Everything I ever told you was a lie, and I assume I played my role rather well if you never found this out until now._

_Well, for starters, Jasper was never my girlfriend or a transvestite._

_She was just a high school dropout that needed some company._

_Don’t mistake, however, that she wasn’t abusive._

_That was real. All real._

_Every bruise she ever gave me._

_And that comes to my next point._

_Peridot, I was never pregnant._

_The only reason I was getting sick was because I was suffering from a cancerous tumor growing in my uterus._

_I never had enough money to get an operation and have it removed, so the doctors said I had a few years to live before it spread into my blood system, and eventually my heart._

_I suppose that is one of my major reasons for what I’m about to do in a few days, but I just can’t take it anymore, Peridot._

_The fact that I’m slowly dying and have no way to stop it._

_It made me depressed, and though I’ve been very good at hiding it from you, a person can only go so far in concealing the damage._

_Sooner or later you’d find out, and by that point, I don’t want to be around._

_I know you’re going to think bad of me – denounce my name and everything you’ve ever had to do with me – but I thought it was best for me to come clean._

_To be truly honest with you._

_You really are the only friend I ever had, and that, Peridot, is not a lie._

_I may have told many things about myself that were not true, but one thing is certain._

_I_ am _Lapis Lazuli, and will never regret what you’ve done for me._

_You’re strong enough to get through this; I know you will._

_So hold your head up for just a little longer, and never regret what the relationship we had together._

_It was fun while it lasted, and I can never express how grateful I am._

_Thanks for everything, Peridot._

_Love, Lapis Lazuli._

A fresh wave of tears splatters the last line of the note, and Peridot is clutching the crumpled letter to her chest like it was a lifeline.

Never has she ever felt so weak – so _useless_ – in her entire life.

 

.

 

The pier is eerily quiet; the crashing waves far too calmer than normal. For once, the sun is peaking through the spotty cloud cover, and ushering in with it the coming of a very late spring. Peridot pays the change in weather no mind, however, and crosses the remainder of the board walk with slow, tired steps.

The coat she wears itches against the healing lacerations on her wrists, and she pulls the sleeve further down. Burrowing further into an aquamarine scarf as a cool gust of wind – bearing the scent of saltwater – blows gently against her face.

There is no hesitation as she stops at the edge of the pier and glances over the brim into the dark churning water. One hand fumbles around her back pocket, succeeding in pulling out the crumpled note she had read a few days prior.

It flutters around in her hand like a loose leaf. Her dark eyes tracking its movement wearily.

She pauses for a few moments before finally bringing herself to tear the note into two pieces; quickly working at dismantling it into even smaller slivers.

It blows out of her gloved hands and hits the Atlantic waters in a descending cloud of paper. The evidence dissolves within seconds.

“Rest in peace, Lapis.” Peridot’s voice sounds dead; grating to her ears from disuse, and she crams her hands into her pockets as she goes to turn from the haunting scene. Too much longer, and she’ll be reminded.

If there had been a way to describe the strange woman that had come and gone so quickly in Peridot’s life, she knew of only one way.

Everything about her was a lie.

 

.

 

Except for her love.

 

.

 

She cleans out the meager possessions Lazuli had brought with her and hides it under the space beneath the drawer. Condemning every article to a cobweb induced fate save for the white sweater that once contained the scribbled suicide note. It holds a lot more sentiment. 

 

.

 

She cannot cope with the stress - the nauseating depression. It's a long downwards spiral from there.

 

.

 

Every night is the exact same. Restless and long. Her arms burn with a fresh collection of cuts, and whatever sleep she gets is punctuated by the sound of muffled screams.

 

.

 

Good Buy fires her for smuggling heroine into the break room.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

Psychiatrist visits fail to soothe the anger and guilt rattling around in her skull. It's more money than she can afford.

 

.

 

The depression pills she's described do nothing to stop the pain.

 

.

 

The dosage increases almost weekly.

 

.

 

They ask her about the cuts on her arms, and she stop going after threatening to strangle the doctor with their own tie. 

 

.

 

She stands outside wringing out a wet towel from her previous shower. The heater has stopped working, forcing her to air dry the sagging piece of cloth. 

Puddles mottle the empty parking lot. Another storm has passed.

 

.

 

She barely gets an hour of sleep now.

 

.

 

It's tiring; everything. She feels so done with the world. 

She never forgives Lazuli for what she did. 

 

.

 

It's a slow process, but every now and then, she feels just a little better. That she might be able to smile for once and not fake such a positive expression. 

 

.

 

She rarely takes walks on the beach, but when she does, it's always in great consideration to steer clear of the pier. 

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

She pops one too many pills each night in an effort to get some needed rest. 

 

.

 

The needle in her pale forearm hurts, but the high is worth it. Just enough to get away from haunting nightmares and elusive ghosts. 

 

.

 

It's too quiet.

 

.

 

The rain finally stops.

 

.

 

They find her fully clothed in the motel's bacteria infested pool. Her wrists crying a deep crimson, and the cold water ruby red. 

 

.

 

They say she was smiling. 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the long wait of not posting anything, but I've been trapped in a writer's block for months. I couldn't work on the main story I had been writing until I got this idea out of my head - and finally - I think it's done. 
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> With the intent of this short story, I found something a little more experimental to be interesting, and comprised this around solitary themes. Overall, it's supposed to be a slow, sort of melancholy tale that doesn't end with a pleasant conclusion, and is more based on the meeting between two strange woman with no common interests.


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